Another week

Friday, and a payday, so I've got that much going for me...

After the little black pooshka began hanging around, there were a few other cats who stopped by.  One of them, the big ol' creampuff with orange and white fur, seemed to win the pooshka's paw in mate-ship.  We saw the two of them together regularly on the deck, and occasionally elsewhere.  Once he sat at the rear of the property after eating to wait for her to finish a meal and clean up afterward, and then she walked to him and they left together.  

Another time I followed him with my eyes after he walked away, and he crossed the street onto another family's property.  Then from his right, the pooshka ran up to him and they walked together out of my sight.

This doesn't have a happy ending, though.  He would appear some evenings, battered and bloody.  Eventually, he stopped appearing at all.  For a couple of days, neither did the pooshka, and I'd like to think she stayed with him until he didn't need her anymore.

So now the pooshka comes to us alone.  But that doesn't mean she's the only cat who visits now.  There's the shy gray guy who sprints away if he detects the presence of any human.  

And recent days, there's another tom.  This one has a mostly orange head and a completely orange tail, and in between is a white body with a few small blotches of orange.  I've broken the rule against naming visitor cats and dubbed him Blott, after the Tom Sharpe novel.  

The first couple of times Blott visited, he was as wary as either of the other two toms, the creampuff and the shy gray guy, but last night was different.  He saw me through the back door and turned to walk away, but after a few steps, he stopped, regarded me with greater distance, and walked back to eat some more of the little black pooshka's food.   

Tonight, it was warm enough to keep the back door open, and so the fresh-air loving pooshkateers were all gathered at the screen when Blott arrived.  Meows came from outside and were countered with low growls from Kit and Nelson.  Blott sized up the situation and decided to follow his stomach instead of his instincts.  

When he finished the leftovers we'd set out for the pooshka, he turned to her freshly-opened can of tuna Fancy Feast, and that's when I stood up so he could see me.  Blott stared, then turned and dashed down the steps and into the darkness. 

For now, anyway.